


No one ever gets to me

by MessyWriter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Andrew Scott - Freeform, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Dark, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Johnlock - Freeform, Lara Pulver - Freeform, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Mark Gatiss - Freeform, Michael Fassbender - Freeform, Rupert Graves - Freeform, Sherlock - Freeform, Smut, Violence, martin freeman - Freeform, sherlock bbc - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 03:38:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13650633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessyWriter/pseuds/MessyWriter
Summary: Jac Smith is the newest recruit of Scotland Yard. But what Sherlock and his friends aren't aware of is that Lestrade isn't Jac's only boss. While shadowing Sherlock and John, Jac gets deeper into the game. And soon he too will understand who the mysterious bomber is...





	1. A New Mission

_ Everyone is looking for something. May it be hobbies, work, friends or family. But everyone does it. Still, we always end up feeling like we don’t fit in. So then we change interests. We quit our jobs. We look for new friends. That is the eternal circle of emptiness that lingers inside of us. I would change my whole life with a flick of a finger if I could. But here I am. Stuck in this hell that whatever god decided would be a funny show to watch.  _

 

It started like it always does, Jac was called back to England. To dear old motherland. It was due for another mission. And he was the only one left to do the job. As soon as he landed he was driven to his office. Jac had promised himself that this would be the last time he accepted a job. After that, he would go get himself a suite somewhere far, far away. To drink away everything. But like always, he never managed to…

 “Jac, how was the trip? I hope the ride wasn’t too long.” 

Jac didn’t think he ever had seen him anywhere but in that precise chair, behind just that desk. 

 “It was fine,” he answered, though he hadn’t cared about the ride. “But I didn’t come here for a new mission. With respect, sir, I have worked for you all my life and I want out.” 

 “With respect, we own you, Jac. Or have you forgot about the contract?” 

No, he hadn’t forgotten about the contract that had him chained like a prisoner. Jac looked down at his feet and breathed out slowly. Trying to calm down. 

“But I understand. So I will come up with a new contract. One that will let you leave.” 

 “Thank you, sir-” Jac began saying but was interrupted. 

 “If… you do something for me,” 

 “So close,” Jac sighed, letting his head hang low before groaning. “What is it?”

The file was pushed over the desk for Jac to see. It was a character file on two men, one of them sticking out much more than the second. It wasn’t normal for Jac to smile, usually it meant trouble. But this time he thought the case was a bad joke. 

“I expected much of you, but definitely not that you’d ask me to follow your brother.” 

Mycroft looked away. Jac didn’t think he had realised he would make the connection so quickly. When Mycroft met Jac’s eyes again, he was back with the usual icy look. 

 “Well, you don’t work here to expect things from me,” Mycroft snorted back. 

 “No, sir.” 

 “You begin your work at Scotland Yard tomorrow. You will be under Inspector Detective Lestrade. He’s close to Sherlock and his companion, doctor John Watson. You already know everything you need to about them,” he continued to explain. 

It wasn’t anything new about this mission. Keep yourself close to the chosen person. Make sure they don’t find out anything or release anything about the government that the public shouldn’t know about. If that happens- 

 “There is no eliminating the target allowed in this case, understood?” 

 “Yes, sir” Jac kept from frowning, he shouldn’t be surprised Mycroft wouldn’t allow anyone to kill his brother. “Anything else I should know, sir?” 

 “Report back as usual, blend in. Just like always.” 

 

Jac was given keys to his new flat and a credit card before leaving. Everything else would be at the flat already. The taxi-drive was slow, he could’ve run faster home. But it was good to see how much London had changed during these three years. To his surprise much was the same. It was almost impressing how little new he saw. The flat was small, just two rooms (besides kitchen and the bathroom). Furniture, clothes, food, it was all there. He looked around for a little, to familiar himself to his new him. Basic food was in the fridge. Good, he wasn’t a vegetarian - he had missed a hamburger for a long time. The clothes were dull, mostly t-shirts and jeans. And… ah, there, under the floorboard in the bathroom, was it. Passport, phone, money, guns. Mycroft’s men had been sloppy, anyone could’ve tripped over that. Jac shoved the plank back into place with his foot, before returning to the bedroom. Tomorrow would be the first day at Scotland Yard. Greg Lestrade seemed like a normal man, a bit slow maybe (like most people). John Watson wasn’t going to be a problem either, he would be easy to befriend. The real problem was Sherlock Holmes himself. He didn’t trust many. In all honesty he seemed like a real arsehole. And if he was anything like Mycroft, it wouldn’t be easy to fool him. Jac needed to be on alert at all times.

 

Next morning he took a taxi to Scotland Yard. He was to meet Lestrade for the first time. But when Jac came to his office, no one was there. 

 “If you’re looking for detective Lestrade, he’ll be here any minute. But you might not get to talk to him for a while, his friend Sherlock Holmes is coming,” A woman behind him said. 

He nodded in thanks. Turning the attention back to the office, he  didn’t notice that the woman was still lingering, until she asked another question;

“So… You are the new guy, huh? If you need anyone to guide you around, I’ll be around.” 

Jac cringed on the inside. It was so obvious that she was trying to flirt, and doing poorly at that too. 

 “Yeah, uh, I think I’ll manage,” he gave a quick, empty smile back. 

 “Oh, alright.” Her smile dropped immediately. “I’m Sally, by the way.” 

 “Jac,” he shook her hand, wishing she would leave. 

Finally, Jac saw Lestrade. He stepped towards him, only to see that he was followed by Sherlock and John. They were walking in a quick pace towards the office. 

 “You like the funny cases, don’t you? The surprising ones,” Lestrade stated, more than asked Sherlock. 

 “Obviously,” Sherlock agreed. 

 “You’ll love  _ this. _ That explosion…” Lestrade stopped briefly when he saw Jac, nodded discreetly before continuing into his office. 

Jac only managed to take another step before the door closed before him.

 “Right… I’ll just wait here then.” He sat down on the closest desk to wait.  

 “Told you, when Sherlock comes around there’s nothing more important.” Sally stood with a bunch of files in her hand. 

 “The Sherlock guy was the tall, smug one?” Jac asked, pretending to not know him. 

Sally nodded and made an aggravated grimace. They clearly didn’t see eye to eye. She seemed jealous almost. Maybe… he could use it for his advantage.  

 “I bet he wouldn’t like being interrupted,” he suggested. 

 “I think not.” Just like that she stretched her back and smirked.

She swung the door open and waltzed inside. Jac followed her and waited. 

 “Well, obviously it’s not the same phone but it’s supposed to look like…” Sherlock who had his back on everyone, looking closely at a pink phone, turned around to face Lestrade. “The Study in Pink? You read his blog?” 

The Study in Pink, the first case he and John had worked on together. Also, the title of one of John’s blogs. Jac had read them last night. That man definitely admired Sherlock. 

 “‘Course I read his blog! We all do. D’you really not know that the earth goes around the sun?” 

Sally, who was consciously putting down the files slowly, sniggered loudly at that fact. Sherlock took his gloves off as he glared at her, while John pursed his lips in embarrassment. Jac could barely hold back a smile himself. The stern look from Sherlock seemed to scare Sally off enough for her to leave. This was the moment he needed. Before the silence had settled, Jac took Lestrade’s hand. 

 “I’m Jac Smith, sir. I’m your new sergeant.” 

In the corner of his eye Sherlock had raised an eyebrow. Lestrade opened and closed his mouth for what like forever before he finally said:

 “Fuck, we were supposed to meet now.” 

 “I’m so relieved that you have such a good memory, Gavin,” Sherlock muttered while he continued observing the phone.

  “It’s Greg.” John whispered to Sherlock. 

  “I can come back later-” Jac began saying.

  “Well, now when you’re here why don’t you stay?” Lestrade let go and stepped back. 

 “I don’t want to interrupt if this is-” Jac began but was again silenced.

 “Everyone shut up!” Sherlock yelled and before anyone could say anything he continued: “It isn’t the same phone. This one’s brand new. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it  _ look _ like the same phone, which means your blog has a far wider readership.” 

Sherlock threw an accusatory look at John, who tried his best to ignore it. Their relationship was special indeed, Jac thought. The phone was switched on and immediately a voice alert said: 

 “ _ You have one new message.” _

The message followed with the unmistakable sound of five Greenwich pips. Jac, who had leaned back on the counter, stood up. He knew those pips. 

 “Is that it?” John asked.

 “No. That’s  _ not  _ it.” Sherlock shook his head and opened a photograph that had also been uploaded to the phone. 

Lestrade and Jac came over and looked over his shoulder. The picture was of an unfurnished room with a fireplace in the middle. The wallpaper was old and peeling, there was a tall mirror propped up in the left corner. A smaller mirror - the type which is usually hung up above a fireplace - was standing on the mantelpiece. 

 “What the hell are we supposed to make of that? An estate agent’s photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!” Lestrade almost yelled in frustration. 

While Sherlock thoughtfully looked into the distant - or rather out through the glass wall, Jac said:

 “It’s a warning.” 

 “A warning?” John asked and looked at Jac for the first time.

 “Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that. Five pips. They’re warning us it’s gonna happen again.” Sherlock turned towards everyone else and briefly looked at Jac before starting to leave the office. “And I’ve seen this place before.”  

 “H-hang on.  _ What’s _ gonna happen again?” John followed him.

Sherlock turned around dramatically and raised his hands in the air.

 “Boom!”

And turned back just as quickly and continued heading off with John right behind him. 

 “That was… dramatic,” Jac cocked his eyebrow. 

 “It is usually with Sherlock Holmes,” Lestrade explained while grabbing his coat and walking after them. “You coming?” 

 “Um, yes, sir.” Jac smiled, this was going well. 

 

A taxi pulled up outside 221b Baker Street and all four got out and hurried inside with Sherlock in the lead. Just as they reached Mrs Hudson’s door, Sherlock stopped and turned to the left where there was another door. The numbers and letters stuck on it read “221C”. 

  “Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock turned back his head and called out towards his landlady’s front door. 

  “Yes Sherlock?” Mrs Hudson’s voice called back on the other side of the door. 

  “Could you come with the key to 221c?” 

Jac looked around as they waited. The hallway was dimmed. There wasn’t much else but coats, and a faint smell of dish soap from Mrs Hudson’s flat. You wouldn’t have any idea of how the rest of the building looked like from standing there. If he played his cards right, Jac thought, then maybe he would have the chance to see the famous 221b for himself. Mrs Hudson opened the door of 221a and handed Sherlock a set of keys. 

  “You had a look, didn’t you, Sherlock? When you first came to see your flat,” Mrs Hudson asked.

Sherlock unlocked the padlock before examining the keyhole closely. 

  “The door’s been opened recently,” he said, more to himself than to any of the others. 

  “No, can’t be. That’s the only key! I can’t get anyone interested in this flat. It’s the damp, I expect. That’s the curse of basements,” Mrs Hudson kept talking on, not noticing that on one was listening. 

The door unlocked and Sherlock and John immediately went inside, with Jac and Lestrade following. No one taking any notice that Mrs Hudson was still rambling on.

“I had a place once when I was first married. Black mould all up the walls…” She trailed off as Lestrade closes the door behind him. “Oh, men!”

At the bottom of the stairs was the same exact room as on the photograph. With only one exception, there was a pair of trainers. Placed neatly side by side in the middle of the room.

  “Shoes,” John stated.

Sherlock began walking  towards them but John quickly put a cautionary hand in front of  him.

"He's a bomber, remember."

Sherlock stopped for a moment but then continued slowly towards the trainers. They were all too curious to even think about calling backup. Sherlock crouched down, then put his hands on the floor and leaned forward. Lowering his body down, he moved closer to the shoes. Just as his nose was just about to touch them, a phone rang. Sherlock jumped before closing his eyes momentarily and breathing out. As quick as possible he stood up, pulled off his glove and took the pink phone from his coat pocket and looked at the caller I.D. It read,  _ NUMBER BLOCKED _ . He paused for a second in hesitation. Then switched on the speaker, holding the phone just a few inches in front of his mouth.  

 "Hello?" He spoke softly, almost as he was afraid of what might answer.

A female voice drew in a shaky breath before speaking tearfully. John and Lestrade looked at each other in horror. 

 "H-hello... sexy."

  "Who's this?" Sherlock asked.

 "I've sent you... a little puzzle... just to say hi."

 "Who's talking? Why are you crying?" Sherlock raised his voice.

 "I-I'm not crying... I'm typing... and this stupid... bitch... is reading it out." the woman sobbed again.

 "The curtain rises," Sherlock mumbled to himself while he gazed thoughtfully out the window.

 "What?" John looked at Sherlock

 "Nothing." Sherlock shook his head.

 "No, what did you mean?"

 "I've been expecting this for some time," He turned his head to John as he spoke.

 "Twelve hours to solve... my puzzle, Sherlock... " the woman spoke. "Or I'm going... to be... so naughty."

Then, the phone went dead. None of them said a thing for a long minute. Both John and Lestrade were in shock. Sherlock had picked up the trainers to examine them. 

 “I’m going to St. Bart’s with these,” Sherlock held them up in front of him. “Lestrade, try and find out as much as you can about this caller.” 

 “There isn’t exactly much to go on… “ Lestrade muttered but nodded in agreement. 

John looked at Jac thoughtfully before he suggested; 

 “Why don’t Jac follow with us, if there isn’t much to do at the Scotland Yard?” 

Both Lestrade and Sherlock seemed surprised by the idea, though Lestrade quickly smiled. 

 “I suppose that could be good… You are after all gonna work under me, which means with them. You okay with that?” 

 “Yes, sir,” Jac answered in a neutral voice, though on the inside he was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I hope you'll enjoy my fanfiction.   
> Please remember that I do not own the Sherlock BBC characters and the Sherlock BBC plot.   
> I have also used https://arianedevere.livejournal.com/46716.html as reference for my fanfiction.
> 
> /MessyWriter


	2. The shoes

Later at St Bart’s, Sherlock had brought the trainers to a lab. He was putting on a pair of latex gloves while he looked closely at them. He picked them up, examined the laces carefully and peered at the shoes from all the directions, then dug out dried mud from the treads in the soles and put it into a dish. Putting the shoes down again, he looked at them thoughtfully. On the other side of the room was John and Jac sitting, waiting for Sherlock to come with a conclusion. 

 “He is aware of that there is people working with that sort of things, that could do it for him. Right?” Jac pointed at the shoes. 

 “Yeah, but in his words “they’re all idiots”,” John said and sniggered. 

 “Really? Everyone?” Jac asked and sat down on one of the metal stools. “That seems a bit unfair.” 

 “I don’t think fair matters much.” John shrugged. 

Jac nodded silently and looked at Sherlock. He had sat down by a microscope and was now looking at his phone. He didn’t seem aware of the fact that they were there. Looking back he noticed that John was looking at him. 

 “Anything you wanna ask, Dr Watson?” 

John looked away quickly and cleared his throat.  

 “Just wondering why we’ve never seen you at the station before,” John began saying.

 “I’m new.” 

 “Yeah, but you must’ve been around before?” 

 “I just moved here, and before I worked as a Detective Sergeant, in Manchester,” Jac clarified. 

This was exactly why the background was important, because people were definitely going to ask questions. John seemed to believe him because he relaxed and sat down. 

“So, are you the police as well?” Jac already knew the answer, but it would’ve been more suspicious if he had acted like it was all normal. 

 “Oh, no. Sherlock is a consulting detective and I’m his…” John stopped, not knowing what to say.

 “Sidekick?” Jac suggested jokingly.

 “Something like that,” John agreed and laughed.

They both smiled in silence, but stopped when Sherlock suddenly groaned in frustration. And as quickly as that the conversation was over. John jumped on his feet and hurried over to Sherlock.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

 “I can’t figure out what spores this is…” Sherlock muttered and pointed at a screen. “I can’t think.” 

Jac looked away. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to get close to Sherlock,  but John was already friendly with him. If John trusted him, then Sherlock might too. 

 “I’ll give you some time without me. I need to call Lestrade anyhow.” Jac got up and left before John could say anything. 

Sherlock’s indication of not being able to think properly was a clear sign for not wanting Jac there. He stopped by a window right outside the lab while calling his boss.

 “ _ Is there a problem? _ ” Mycroft’s voice was heard on the other side of the line.

 “We might have, sir,” Jac answered quietly. “Your brother has been called for a new case. And it seems like it could have something to do with… him.” 

 “ _ Are you sure? _ ” 

 “Sherlock got a call, the voice was of a victim reading off of something. Sounds like that case last year in France, don’t you think?” 

 “ _ It does indeed… Update me as soon as you have new information. _ ” A with that, Mycroft ended the phone call. 

A heavy sigh left Jac’s lungs. If the bomber was who he thought it was, everyone was in trouble. Especially Jac himself. He didn’t even have information of how the man looked. All they had was some men working for him. And a name… Moriarty. 

As Jac stood there thinking, a woman came up to him. By her lab coat, he understood that she worked at St Bart’s. She seemed nice, but shy. 

 “Can I help you with anything?” She came up to him and asked. 

 “No, I’m just waiting for Mr Holmes to finish up here. I work for Scotland Yard, miss…” 

 “Miss Hooper, but you can call me Molly.” She gave Jac a friendly smile. “Are you new? You must be, no one sticks around for long with Sherlock… I mean, not that he’s horrible! Just difficult for most- I mean, I like him. Like, not like like- I have a boyfriend now-” She stopped stuttering when she realised she had said too much. 

Jac smiled back silently. 

“I’m gonna go and check in on him…” She cleared her throat and walked inside. 

In the corner of Jac’s eye, he noticed a man just jogging down the hallway towards them. 

 “Molly!” the man shouted after her, but it was too late for the door had already closed. “Damnit…” 

The man muttered and looked at his watch. It was a brief second where he stood and seemed to decide to walk after her or not, before continuing to hurry towards the door. He stopped when he noticed Jac and raised an eyebrow in surprise. Like he had recognised Jac. No, that’s impossible. But just as quickly the look disappeared. He broke the eye contact and went after Molly before Jac managed to have a proper look at him. The boyfriend…? He didn’t seem very into girls. Jac frowned. Even though it probably would’ve been a good idea to wait outside, Jac needed as much information about the shoes as possible. 

 “Oh, sorry. I didn’t…” The man had stopped right by the now open door.

 “Jim! Hi!” Jac could hear Molly saying. 

The man, or Jim, stepped back as to leave. But Molly continued to tell him to come inside. Jac followed silently inside while Jim made his way to Molly. 

 “Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes. And, uh… sorry,” she looked at John and Jac blankly.

 “John Watson. And that’s Jac Smith. Hi,” John answered quickly. 

He looked stiff, observing Jim. Jealous? Jac wondered. 

 “Hi,” Jim answered John, but his eyes were locked on Sherlock’s back, looking at him admiringly. “So you’re Sherlock Holmes. Molly’s told me all about you. You on one of your cases?” 

Jac looked at the very weird scene in front of him. Three people all standing around Sherlock, admiring him. Fighting unconsciously to win him. Jim walked around closer to Sherlock. Forcing John to take a step back.

 “Jim works in IT upstairs. That’s how we met. Office romance.” Molly and Jim giggled. 

Sherlock briefly glanced around in the room, stopping at Jim before returning to look into the microscope. 

 “Gay.” 

 “Sorry, what?” Molly’s smile faded. 

Immediately Sherlock realised what he had said. He looked up and smiled falsely at Jim.

 “Um, hey.” 

 “Hey…” Jim smiled back at him with big eyes and raised his hand in a little wave. 

While lowering his hand again, Jim knocked a metal dish off the edge of the table and scrambled to pick it up. Giggling nervously. 

“Sorry! Sorry!”

John turned away and face-palmed while Sherlock looked down at Jim, irritated. He was good, very good at acting. Jac hid a smile behind his hand. Jim put the dish back on the table and then scratched his arm as he wandered back towards Molly. 

“Well, I’d better be off. I’ll see you at The Fox, ‘bout six-ish?” 

 “Yeah!” Molly smiled, oblivious of what had just happened. 

He stopped beside her, gently putting a hand on her back. Looking back towards Sherlock, he said:

 “Bye…” 

 “Bye,” Molly answered softly. 

 “It was nice to meet you,” Jim said to Sherlock. 

Sherlock didn’t respond, continuing to look into his microscope while Jim gazed wistfully at him. John looked back and forth between them before breaking the embarrassing silence. 

 “You too.” 

Jim blinked at him, smiling awkwardly before turning and leaving the room. Everyone stood in silence there as he left before Jac couldn’t help but snigger. 

 “I’m sorry. I’ll be back in a minute,” he mumbled to John who had given him a warning look. 

Outside in the corridor was Jim standing with his back towards the door, his whole over body hanging low. Jac stood still, watching. It had been a terrific performance by Jim in the lab. What he wasn’t sure about though was if it had been just to be able to break up with the girl or if he actually was a… fan of Sherlock. It had just been a bit too much of everything.

 “You can drop the act, it’s just me,” Jac said softly. 

Jim turned around. An innocent smile gazed up at Jac. But it slowly turned into a smirk. 

 “You won’t say anything will you?” His voice was sweet as syrup and big eyes looked deep into Jac’s. 

 “No need to, Sherlock is already doing it,” Jac spoke friendly as he stepped closer. 

 “Not exactly what I meant... ” Jim brushed back his hair. “Aaah well…” He stopped in mid-movement, staring at Jac. 

“How did you know?” 

 “I’m a detective, for the Scotland Yard. It’s my job to notice things,” Jac couldn’t help but smile back. 

Jim stepped closer, making it just inches between them. The smirk grew wider. Eyes traced his body. Reading him. Observing everything they could. Just as he was about to answer, the lab door opened and Molly came out. She stopped and breathed in harshly, staring at them, before storming off. Jac looked back and was given a wink from Jim before he ran after her.

 “Molly! It’s not what you think!” 

What. Was. That? Jac knew Sherlock had fans, normal and twisted ones. But Jim, the IT guy. Jac didn’t know what to think. Mycroft needed to know, but first. The shoes. Jac walked inside, putting on his own mask as detective Smith. 

 “I’m not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate... “ John was standing next to Sherlock, looking down at the old retro shoes. 

 “An outside eye, a second opinion. It’s very useful to me,” Sherlock interrupted. 

He looked up to Jac and went silent. Frowning. Like he knew exactly what had happened in the corridor. Or, rather, guessing. Jac sat down on the other side of the table. Ignoring the cold piercing looks he was given.

 “Yeah, right!” John snorted.

Sherlock rolled back his head to John. 

 “Really.” 

They stared at each other intensely for several seconds before John sighed and picked up the shoe. Having both of his hands free now, Sherlock picked up his phone. 

 “I dunno. They’re just a pair of shoes- trainers.”

 “Good.” 

 “Um… they’re in good nick,” John began describing. “I’d say they were pretty new…”

A frustrated intake of breath came from SHerlock. 

“Except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while,” John continued quickly. 

Sherlock breathed out and relaxed. 

“Uh, they’re very eighties, probably one of those retro designs.”

 “You’re on sparkling form.” Sherlock gave John a quick smile before returning to his phone. “What else?”

 “Well, they’re quite big, so a man’s.” 

 “But…?” Sherlock asked.

John looked inside both of the trainers and saw blue smudges from a name, at the sides. 

 “But… there’s traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don’t write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid.” 

Sherlock looked at John proudly. 

 “Excellent. What else?” 

 “Uh…” John looked again at the shoe he was holding, then put it down in defeat. “That’s it.” 

 “That’s it?” Sherlock looked with raised eyebrows, surprised. 

John nodded, not knowing what else to say. 

 “How did I do?” 

  “Well, John, really well.”  Sherlock paused momentarily. “I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know…” 

He lifted his hand and slowly rotated his wrist, turning his palm upwards, his face full of sarcasm. With a look of frustration, John gave the trainers to Sherlock while sending Jac a pleading expression. Just as Sherlock opened his mouth to deduce further, Jac jumped in and took the other shoe. 

 “My turn.” 

The shoes were very old and still well taken care of. But the laces had been changed several times. Scrubbed and whitened clean. Jac sniffed, no recent foot sweat smell. So either they hadn’t been worn for a while, or someone had washed the inside. The first was more likely as the smudges of a name was still there. 

 “Well? What have the police force taught you, detective?” Sherlock taunted him, cocking his eyebrow.

 “Well... “ Jac slowly looked up and locked eyes with Sherlock. “As I haven’t seen the pollen, neither anything else that is microscopic, I don’t have much.” 

 “Then I’ll explain, see as you don’t-” 

 “The shoe owner loved these shoes. They were scrubbed clean, whitened where they got discoloured. Even changed the laces three…” 

 “Four,” Sherlock shot in.

 “Yeah, alright. Four times. And these trainers haven’t been worn for around… twenty years, give or take.” Jac pushed the shoe back to Sherlock, smiling coldly back. 

Neither of the men said anything. A small smile was breaking through John and Sherlock’s nose flared slightly. 

 “T-Twenty years?” John bursted out. 

 “They’re not retro. They’re originals.” Sherlock showed John a picture on his phone, still looking at Jac. “I suppose you searched it up as well.” 

 “Indeed I did,” Jac confirmed and sat back. “But, please, continue you. You’re the expert.” 

Again, they looked at Jac. This time both surprised by the compliment. 

“Oh, please. I’m a guy who didn’t have any objections to work with you, Mr Holmes. I’m a detective sergeant who moved to London, losing a promising career in Manchester. Why do you think?” 

 “Y-you?” Sherlock stuttered. 

 “What?” John shook his head, confused.

 “You’re a fan.” 

 “Not. A fan. I wouldn’t say fan.” Jac was quick to explain. “But I was inspired. So I learned as much as I could by Mr Holmes,” Jac turned to John and explained.

A small bit of truth in a big lie made all the difference. Made it all more believable. Even for someone like Sherlock Holmes. 

 “I um… There’s traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them so he suffered from eczema.” Sherlock suddenly blurted out. “Limited edition, two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine…” 

And back to the shoes they were. It was probably for the best. Jac had given out a lot of information. Even though the risk had been successful to get closer to Sherlock, it had been a risk indeed. 

 “But there’s still mud on them. They look new,” John’s voice got Jac back to reality. 

Sherlock looked at Jac for a second who nodded for him to keep going.

 “Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it’s from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it.” Sherlock looked thoughtfully at the trainers.

 “How do you know?” John asked. 

 “The pollen. Clear as a map reference to me.” 

On the computer screen was two dots flashing on a map of Britain. One around the borders of East and West Sussex. The other to the south-east of London. 

“South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind.” 

 “So, what happened to him?” John asked. 

 “Something bad…” Jac muttered.

 “He loved those shoes, remember. He’d never leave them filthy. Wouldn’t leave them, unless he had to. So, a child with big feets gets…” Sherlock trailed off, staring behind Jac. “Oh…” 

John looked across the lab, trying to see what his friend was looking at. 

 “What?” Jac asked, leaning in on the table. 

 “Carl Powers,” Sherlock breathed out. 

 “Sorry, who?” John looked back at Sherlock.

 “Carl Powers, John.” 

 “What is it?” 

 “It’s where I began.” Sherlock blinked and looked at Jac.

His eyes had started glowing. Like when children get when they get a present. 

 “As the police, do I wanna know?” Jac asked carefully. 

There was no answer from Sherlock. Instead he had already left the table and started to walk to the door. 

“Mr Holmes!” Jac shouted after him. 

Sherlock had taken a step through the door but stopped and turned around. He looked at Jac from top to toe. 

 “Take the shoes in one of your police bags, Jac. We don’t have time to get to Scotland Yards. A woman’s in danger! And for the last time, my name is Sherlock.” And with that he was out the door. 


	3. Eighteen Years Ago

On a big blackboard in front of the ten year olds, their teacher pointed to the three-digit number he had just written down.

 “Of the six three-digit integers which are divisible by four?” Mr O’Brian turned to his class and looked down at a boy in the middle. “Smith!”

Jac looked up from his notebook and gave the board a quick glance.

 “All of them,” he answered.

 “Not even in the outer reaches of Pluto, where you generally have your attention, is 703 divisible by four.”

 “703 divided by four is 175.75. They can all be divided by four, just with the remainders. You didn’t define your terms.” Jac frowned when his classmates started to whisper and giggle.

Just as Mr O’Brian was about to say something, the school clock rang. He looked furiously at Jac as all the students started to leave.

 “Smith! Stay.”

A few girls giggled and Jac sighed He sat down heavily because he knew what was coming. The teacher walked up to him with a ruler in his hands.

“You show a growing disdain for authority. It’s concerning. Hands on the desk.”

Jac looked at the desk but didn’t move. Suddenly the teacher smashed the ruler on the desk.

 “Hands. On the desk.”

Slowly, Jac put the hands up on the desk when there’s a knock on the door. The door opened and two men walk in and stay by either side. A third man walked in.

“What’s this? Who are you?” Mr O’Brian straightened his back to look up at them.

Jac started to to turn but got slapped on the back of his head by Mr O’Brian.

 “Sit still, Smith.”

 “I wouldn’t do that if I was you, sir,” the younger man said in a calm manner.

 “I am his teacher and you’re-”

 “And I am his guardian.”

This time Jac turned fully to get a good look at him. The third man was much younger than the two guards. Around the age of twenty-five thirty. He was dressed in a finer suit. In his left hand he’s holding an umbrella, even though the weather was sunny.

 “Excuse me? I think you’re mistaken. I have met Smith’s parents-”

 “Good for you,” the younger man interrupted and looked at Jac. “We have already everything packed, Jac. Is there anyone you want to say goodbye to before we leave?”

Jac shook his head.

 “Alright, Bernard, take Jac to the car. We’ll be down in a minute. I’m just going to have a chat with Mr O’Brian here,” The man took Jac’s backpack and gave it to Bernard.

A few minutes later Jac was standing by a black SUV. Soon the two other men came out, followed by the headmaster and Mr O’Brian. Bernard opened the car door for Jac and showed with his hand for Jac to get inside. The headmaster and the younger man shook hands before he got in after Jac. As they’re driving away Jac looked out and saw his teacher, holding his hand towards his face. He lowered his hand, showing a bruised cheek. Jac turned and looked at the younger man who smiled discreetly. On the handle of the umbrella was traces of blood.

“He was quite rude.” The younger man shrugged.

Jac didn't say anything. Though he did agree with that Mr O’Brian deserved it.

“My name is Mycroft Holmes. I work for the MI5. I’m afraid I have some terrible news… ”


	4. Clostridium Botulinum

Jac was the last one in the cab. They were on their way to Baker Street for Sherlock to get more information about the boy Carl Powers. It was only six hours left until the bomber would probably blow up the poor woman. Jac sighed and looked out the window. She must be so afraid. All alone. Probably some bastard pointing a rifle at her.

 “Jac, we’re here.” John pushed his leg to get the attention. “Hey, you alright?”

 “Yeah, sorry.” Jac shook his head and took a deep breath in.

 “No, use wondering. Won’t help them,” Sherlock mumbled, he looked briefly at them both before leaving the taxi.

Well upstairs, Sherlock opened the door and hurried inside. The room they came into must have been the living room. Though it was hard to be sure for the mess. Mugs, papers, books everywhere. A skull? Jac walked carefully, not to touch anything that looked important.

 “Is this a…” he began saying.

 “A human skull?” John finished. “Yep, a friend to Sherlock. According to himself.”

 “Right, because that’s not weird at all-” While turning around, Jac stopped talking. Seeing Sherlock standing there in front of him.

 “Jac, put the shoes on the kitchen table. John get the printer and my computer. It’s here somewhere…” Sherlock said and walked back to his room.

 “And where are you going?” John called after him.

 “Getting his file!”

 “Who’s file?” John lifted a printer up under a pile of newspapers.

Quickly back, Sherlock slammed a big file on the table in the kitchen.

 “Carl Powers’s,” he said.

 “Right- wait, you have a file on Carl Powers?” John put down the printer a bit roughly, enough to make the microscope jump.

 “Careful! Of course I do. I have a file on every case, John.”

John nodded for a few seconds, staring blankly at Sherlock. Then turned to Jac and pointed to the living room.

 “The laptop’s on the sofa…”

As Jac went to get the laptop he could hear John whisper:

“I can’t believe you. And you’re on at me for having a blog about you!”

Coming back, John had taken a step back and looked rather annoyed.

 “Now all I need is for you two to keep out of here,” Sherlock then announced.

 “But we can help looking through the files,” Jac argued.

 “Come on Jac… The all oh mighty wants silence,” John muttered and led him out again, closing the glassdoors after him.

Nearly an hour later, Sherlock was still locked inside the kitchen, working. John was pacing back and forth in front of the glass door, while getting more agitated for every minute that passed. Jac had walked out to the hallway to leave an update to Mycroft.

 “What?” Mycroft asked.

His voice was cold.

 “I’ve got new information.”  

 “Yes, I understood that. So what is it?”

Jac looked back through the door when he heard the glassdoor open.

 “Does the name Carl Powers mean anything to you?” Jac asked quietly.

 “Of course, it’s the first real case Sherlock tried to solve.”

 “Well, the bomber seems to have known that as well.”

Mycroft went silent.

 “I need to call you back,” Mycroft abruptly ended the call.

 “Myc-”

It had become a tradition with Mycroft always hanging up on him. But that didn’t make it less irritating. Jac pushed the phone down his front pocket and walked back inside.

 “How quaint,” Sherlock’s voice came from the kitchen.

 “What is?” John asked.

 “You are. Queen and country.”

 “You can’t just ignore it!” John cried out.

Slowly, Jac got closer to the door to listen.

 “I’m not ignoring it. Putting my best man onto it right now.”

 “Right. Good.” John folded his arms and nodded in satisfaction, only to look att Sherlock in puzzlement. “Who’s that?”

Sherlock sat back in his chair and glared at John.

 “I think he means you,” Jac answered and came inside.

 “When did you get back?” John jumped, startled.

 “My brother doesn’t like to wait,” Sherlock cut them off.

John nodded and hurried out. Both Jac and SHerlock looked at each other, observing and deducing.

 “So, you have a brother? Must be someone important if not even you would want to let him wait.” Jac sat down.

 “He’s just about as important as highly he thinks of himself,” Sherlock mumbled.

 “What does he work as ?”

 “Why are you suddenly so interested in me, or rather, my brother?” Sherlock glanced at Jac.

 “Nothing more than genuine interest in you, I suppose,” Jac shrugged.

 “Why?” Sherlock asked while he continued to work.

 “I can’t be curious about you?”

 “Be curious on your free time,” Sherlock muttered.

 “That would make me a rather lousy detective,” Jac scoffed. “Well as you’re not allowing me to help, then asking questions is all I can do,” he continued.

 “Fine. You want something to do?” Sherlock sat up. “Go to out to living room and try and find any information about our mysterious bomber.”

“And be quiet!” Sherlock added as Jac walked out.

The wall about the sofa had been started as a thought board. On the floor and tables was articles about Carl Powers and the previous bomb on baker street spread around in no apparent order. Jac picked up a copy about the bombing. A piece of paper fell down on the floor. On it was a phone number and the letter J. Jac was surprised that Sherlock hadn’t just thrown it away. There was something weird about that man. The way he had looked at Jac. The way he behaved around Sherlock. Jac wasn’t sure why he did it, but quickly he took a picture of the number and continued his search for clues.

 

 “Oh, you’re still here?” John stopped by the door. 

In his hand was a file. The name Andrew West was written on the front. Jac looked up at John from where he was sitting in the sofa, buried deep in papers and articles. 

 “Yeah, I just wanted to be useful.” Jac stood up. 

 “Are are you?” John put the file away before turning to Jac and asking. 

 “Probably not,” Jac admitted. 

There hadn’t been much about the bombing that stack out. With the lack of evidence left on the crime scene showed that it had been a professional job. But that was obvious from the beginning. 

 “Clostridium botulinum!” Sherlock yelled. 

Both John and Jac hurried inside the kitchen. 

“It’s one of the deadliest poisons on the planet!” he continued as they entered. “Carl Powers!” 

 “Oh, wait, are you saying he was murdered?” John asked. 

Sherlock stood up and walked over to where he had hung up the laces. 

 “Remember the shoelaces?” He held them up for them to see. “The boy suffered from eczema. It’d be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyses the muscles and he drowns.” 

He explained with the same glimmer in his eyes as when they found the shoes. This really was fun for him, Jac realised as he watched the other two talking. 

 “What- how come the autopsy didn’t pick that up?” John frowned. 

 “It’s virtually undetectable. Nobody would’ve been looking for it,” Jac muttered and looked at the laces in Sherlock’s hand. 

Sherlock had now walked to the other side of the table and was now leaning over his laptop, tapping down on the keyboard. 

 “Exactly, but there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet,” Sherlock continued with the explanation. “That’s why they had to go.” 

 “So how to we let the bomber know…?” John asked. 

 “Get his attention,” Jac answered, thoughtfully. 

 “Stop the clock.” Sherlock nodded in agreement. 

 “The killer kept the shoes all these years,” John said.

 “Yes… meaning,” Sherlock looked at John. 

 “He’s our bomber!” 

Like the bomber could listen to their conversation, the pink phone immediately rang. Sherlock hurried over and switched the speaker on. 

 “Well done, you. Come and get me,” the woman sobbed in anguish as she read the latest message out loud. 

 “Where are you? Tell us where you are!” 


	5. His first deaths - Eighteen Years Ago

The news had been told carefully. They had had to stop on the side of the road to let Jac get out as the reality sank in. His parents were dead. They had travelled to Afghanistan in a bigger company. It was during the drive back from a successful meeting with important people. The cars never saw the ambush coming.

Mycroft waited patiently while Jac cried and punshed anything that tried to come near. In the end he had become so tired that Bernard had been able to carry him back to the car. It was a quiet drive the rest of the way. Jac recognised the building they drove to. He had been there many times before. Jac’s parents had both been working for MI6. His mother had been a translator and his father… Well the way they explained it was that he was a courier. But Jac always thought that it had been more to it. He dreamed that his dad was a spy, like James Bond. But that was all it was, a dream.

When Jac was born his parents couldn’t stay at home with him. So as soon as he was old enough he was sent to a boarding school. It was the same year that they understood that he was just as smart as his parents. They wrote a contract letting MI5 study him. They started teaching him things, languages, hacking (or programming as his teacher Marcus kept reminding him of) and civics was just a few things. But now his parents had died and the government had become his guardian. This way of living had been all Jac knew, it wasn’t too odd for him. He was smart and he knew it, so why wouldn’t the government want to watch over him?

They drove into a garage and stopped right next to a lift.

 “Jac, before we go, I want to talk to you,” Mycroft began saying.

 “Okay,” was all Jac said.

 “Actually I want to explain that I have been assigned to you. Anything you need to talk about. Anything you need. I’m the one you go to.” Mycroft scratched the back of his head. “Look, this is new for me as well. I didn’t start working here to look after a kid.” Mycroft hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, but he didn’t like to sugar-coat things.

 “I’m not a kid,” Jac argued back.

Jac was young, he was a child. But he didn’t see himself as a “kid”. Kids played with dirt, climbed trees and fought for the best doll. Jac studied, read, trained. He worked. Mycroft chuckled softly.

 “Why am I not surprised?” he asked more to himself than anyone else. “But what I wanted to explain is that I will be with you through everything.”

Jac hadn’t looked back at Mycroft after the insult. Instead he was trying to turn his head as far arnoud in his seat as possible, to avoid eye contact.

“I know how hard it can be to live among simple people, those who doesn’t understand gets scared.”

 “They're like goldfish.”

 “Pardon?”

Jac glanced back at Mycroft.

 “Goldfish are stupid and they forget and get scared,” he explained.

Bernard opened the car door and they stepped out. After a long ride down with the lift they were led through a wide hallway. They came out to a corridor, full of scientists. A few nodded or even greeted them as they walked past. In the end of the corridor was an identical door as all the others they had past. They walked into a big room consisting of a living room and kitchen in one. To the left was a smaller room. It looked exactly like his bedroom at home. The blackboard with his scribbles on it. Photos on him and his parents were hanging on the walls. And all his books had been neatly put in bookshelves. Only thing that was missing was the view out to his garden. Instead there was a blank white wall.

 “Familiarity is said to be calming,” Mycroft explained when he saw Jac’s confused look.

He didn’t say anything, instead he went and grabbed the single black notebook that was lying on the copy of his old desk.

 “Thank you…” Jac whispered.

Mycroft nodded.

 “I took it with me myself. Drawing is good for the human brain. And you’re very talented.”

 “It’s not mine… it’s my father’s,” Jac’s throat thickened when he thought about it, that he was wrong. It wasn’t his dad’s anymore.

 “Do you want some dinner?” Mycroft asked while sitting down on the bed next to Jac.

But Jac shook his head and moved away.

 “I want to be alone…”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear reader!
> 
> Thank you for reading my fanfiction!  
> It's still in progress and changes may come (if big I will tell you in the beginning of next chapter).  
> Please be aware that English is NOT my first language, so if there is anything you notice about grammar, or missed words, or if you want Mycroft to have a little dancing moment with his umbrella then please comment down below ;) Thanks in advance!
> 
>  
> 
> Love, Messy


End file.
